Miz Beulah
by goldieasj
Summary: Worried about the fate of his friend Heyes, Kid Curry travels to New Orleans to rescue him, only to be bothered by a Voodoo priestess who claims she is trying to help him!


**_MIZ BEULAH_**

 ** _by Goldie_**

In the morning, Kid Curry sighed and reviewed his meager poker winnings of the night before. Enough change to provide for a few hotel nights and drinks and perhaps a poker stake if a game was running tonight. If not, the Kid would have to look for work in this God-forsaken town. The Kid wasn't the poker-player his partner Hannibal Heyes was and wouldn't trust himself in a high-stakes game. But Heyes could . . .

Never mind, Heyes wasn't there. Heyes was elsewhere, location unknown, probably having a good time with a beautiful woman and enjoying a tequila or two. All of which was being paid for by his new good friend Damien Freund.

 _Freund._ Sounds a little like _friend,_ thought the Kid.

Also sounds like _fiend._

The Kid huffed slightly at his own joke, but it wasn't really funny. How could things have gone so wrong?

Damien had seemed like a good man when they had met him. Tall, well-spoken, flashy dresser, sure of himself. The Kid painfully remembered it well. Although it seemed like ages, it was only last night. He and Heyes had come off a long spell crossing some dry Texas land and had been quenching their thirst. Standing at the bar, they noticed, was a man who, unlike everyone else in the saloon, was not wearing a gunbelt. He was wearing a belt designed to hold a knife. A little odd, although both he and Heyes had seen this kind of thing before. Normally it was an outlaw who would wear a knifebelt, or a backwoodsman. But this man was sophisticated and showy, not the knife-wielding type. This, and the fact that the man was alone and nursing a single drink for a long time, intrigued them both. When they caught him glancing sideways at them, they engaged him in conversation. His name was Damien Freund, he had said. Out of France and New York after spending some time in Laredo and New Orleans. He had an accent they couldn't place so it seemed credible enough.

In fact, at first they believed everything he said. No reason not to. Heyes was still probably believing all his lies. But the Kid knew better.

One story after another. Probably one lie after another. Most of the stories, the Kid had noticed, had elements designed to attract Heyes's attention. Now he figured that had been intentional.

 _The world is magical. Even in America you can find pure magic. You need only to_ _know where to look. Some white magic, some black magic! Return with me, my friends, and I will show you exotic wonders the likes of which you can't even imagine!_

No! This from Kid Curry. Something about this Freund guy just didn't feel right. Heyes had said nothing, and the Kid remembered the withering look Heyes had given him.

 _No? Then join me at my expense in an extended holiday in a beautiful little town in Mexico, not far from here._ _I speak the language fluently, of course, and I guarantee you will enjoy yourselves._ _The senoritas are beautiful and willing and I am well-liked there._ _As friends of mine, you will experience gratification and adoration expressed in an infinite number of ways._

Not just a silver tongue, but a gold one. Perhaps this is the argument that had won Heyes over. The Kid was not even sure what some of those words meant, but he bitterly remembered how he was not able to convey his reservations about Freund to his partner. For once, Hannibal Heyes was the victim of a silver tongue rather than the manipulator. Kid Curry seemed to be immune; possibly because he'd spent his life listening to Heyes. The Kid had noticed that Freund picked up on his reservations and focused his attention entirely on Heyes after that.

The Kid had summed up Freund early as a phony, a con man perhaps, and he was piqued that Heyes didn't seem to be having the same reaction. Several times the Kid made some excuse as to why they would have to leave but Heyes did not follow his lead. Finally Heyes said, "If you're that tired, Thaddeus, go on back to the hotel. We won't mind."

 _We won't mind._

 _We._

Distressed, the Kid tried to think. How could things have gone so wrong?

* * *

 _But Hannibal Heyes was not as naïve as the Kid feared him to be. Heyes was no longer believing the lies he'd heard from Damien Freund. No reason to. Freund was no longer lying to him._

 _Of course he had at first been completely taken in by the lies. Freund's stories about New York City and Paris and Chicago and New Orleans had captivated them and held them spellbound. He had told them of clean roads and fine wines and beautiful women and well-dressed men. He had said that men didn't carry guns out East and they had looked at each other in disbelief. He had told them of the delicious meals he had tasted and they had looked at each other in envy._

 _When Freund had talked of Laredo, they'd lost interest for they had been there._ What a fool I was! _thought Heyes. Now he remembered that when their interest had waned, Freund had reverted back to stories of the glories and romance of the places that were foreign to them. He had toyed with them, bought their interest, manipulated them. What a fool! There's always a price when you're stupid!_

 _And that price – that price was way too high. His freedom. Maybe his life. Heyes would have slapped himself in frustration if he'd been able to move his hands._

* * *

Kid Curry knew there would be no point in trying to get back to sleep. Heyes could be in trouble. And the Kid didn't even know what kind of trouble, or even if his friend was still alive! But he wanted to be the one to save him!

But then, how could he save his partner if he didn't even know where he was? Or what kind of trouble he was in? Or even if he was in trouble at all? What kind of leverage did he have? Kid Curry didn't feel powerful at all; whatever influence he'd had over Heyes seemed to have disappeared when they met Freund.

After trying unsuccessfully several times to extricate Heyes from Freund's verbal clutches, the Kid had taken his own suggestion and returned to their hotel room. His sleep was fitful, however, as he suspected something was very wrong with their new acquaintance and couldn't quite figure out what.

He was tremendously relieved when Heyes walked in the room two or three hours later. The Kid sat up and warmly greeted Heyes but received no smile in return. The Kid was puzzled to see Heyes packing all his belongings in his saddlebag instead of plopping down on his own bed. "What are you doing?" the Kid asked simply.

"Here's your chance to have some fun, Kid," Heyes replied without looking at his partner. "Come with us if you want. We're heading to Mexico."

Mexico! This made no sense at all. The Kid was stunned! Some of the things Freund had said came back into his mind and incensed him. He had been right to be worried!

"Why Mexico, Heyes? I thought we were going to head north."

"Not any more. I'm going down to Mexico for a while. Damian has a regular lady down there and she has a sister who is just right for me. Warm, dark hair, big brown eyes . . ." Heyes dreamily looked off at nothing as his mind was apparently wandering. Kid Curry had heard this conversation before; it was the last thing he had heard Freund saying as he had left the two of them in the saloon. That kind of talk would normally have affected him, too, but he had been too stunned to see that Heyes had seemed to be succumbing. And he strongly suspected that it was just talk, anyhow.

"What's the matter with you, Heyes? There's pretty women here, too. Anywhere! We were heading north, not south!"

Heyes snapped out of it. "He has money down there, Kid. Why don't you come along? Freund is paying for everything! He's stashed money there, plus he says he's important in the town. There will be surprises for us. Everything we can possibly want will be ours for the wanting!" Now Heyes was smiling.

The Kid was not. "That's crazy, Heyes! You don't know this man! He's lying to you, probably about everything!"

Heyes's smile became quite coy. "What's the matter, Kid? Suddenly you don't trust people?"

"I don't trust him. He's lying to you, Heyes! I don't know why, but he is."

"Little unfair, aren't you?"

"I'm telling you, Heyes, there's something wrong with this man. I don't trust him. And you shouldn't either. I'm not going with him. And neither are you."

Heyes lost his smile. He studied his partner carefully. The Kid had assumed an all-business stance. He was standing woodenly, and, Heyes noticed, he had placed himself in front of the door.

Heyes shook his head dismissively. "I guess you're not coming, then. Try not to be so jealous, Kid. It doesn't become you." Heyes finished packing his bag, took one last look around to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, and headed for the door.

"You're not going, Heyes. I mean it," said the Kid. His words had no effect as Heyes continued walking toward him, his expression unreadable.

In an instant, Kid Curry had pulled his gun. "Stay right there!" he commanded.

Heyes knew very well that his partner would not shoot him, but the very act of the gun being pulled on him seemed to rile him. He walked up to the Kid and grabbed him by the shoulder, shoving him roughly aside. The Kid stood powerlessly, his gun hand hanging at his side and a pained expression on his face.

"Try to get over it, Kid!" Although his action seemed to indicate he was incensed, there was little anger in Heyes's steady voice. He stared at his partner for a moment and then left, slamming the door.

The noise shook the Kid back to reality, and he stared at the door. But did nothing.

* * *

Kid Curry did nothing for several hours. Nothing except think. His thinking at first mostly ran along the lines of anger at his partner, someone he thought he knew very well and now wasn't so sure. Heyes had acted very irrationally, the Kid thought, and also unpredictably. It just wasn't like him to fall for the smooth lines of a con man. And there was something else, too – something that Heyes had said that angered Kid Curry at first. Until he really thought about it. And then he realized Heyes was right.

He was jealous! An emotion he normally assigned to women, and certainly an emotion he did not feel he was capable of feeling and absolutely did not understand. But after a sleepless night of fluctuating between anger at his partner and worry over his partner's possible fate, Kid Curry was forced to admit that he was indeed jealous. This made him resentful, another unpleasant emotion.

At the first realization of this, the Kid tried to hide it behind other thoughts, other feelings. But the sensation of jealousy always crept in when his thoughts about Heyes turned to the warm memories. They had had good lives together and had enjoyed each other's company for years. But a couple of hours with a stranger named Damien had changed all that. There must have been something in their relationship that was lying, sleeping, just waiting for something or someone "special" to come along and change everything. To shake things up. Maybe irretrievably. This possibility unsettled him. Could he get along with Heyes?

Of course, but he didn't want to.

Jealous or not, the Kid knew he had always enjoyed everything from the light-hearted repartee to the hard times they had shared, and he wanted those times back again. Being angry or jealous did not sit well with him. Rescuing Heyes made him feel he'd be a hero. And Heyes would think so, too! He smiled.

Suddenly there was absolutely nothing that could stand in the way of Kid Curry's clear-cut decision to rescue Hannibal Heyes.

* * *

"Wake up, my friend." Heyes heard the words repeated two or three times before he responded. He had slept well, deeply and unbroken, and waking was difficult. He opened his eyes and blinked. It took him a little while to understand where he was. It was a bedroom of some sort and . . . oh, yes, now he remembered. The night before ended with a lovely lady beside him in that very bed. He smiled, hoping to see her in the room. As he looked around, it seemed he was alone. But something was wrong. A man's voice had insisted he awaken. The Kid?

No; that couldn't be. As his eyes adjusted, Heyes realized the voice had come from Damien Freund, who was sitting across the room, partially hidden in the shadows. "Time for you to be awake, my friend," said Damien.

Heyes smiled. "Where's Marie?" he asked playfully. "No offense, but I was hoping to see her instead of you this morning." He tried stretching, but something hampered his movement.

"Marie's long gone. I want you to wake up. We have business to discuss." Damien stood up and walked over to Heyes.

On instinct alone, Hannibal Heyes knew that something was very very wrong. He made a great effort to shake off the remaining grogginess and concentrate. He tried rubbing his face but his hand could not make contact with it. He looked and found his hand tied to the bed headboard. Turning quickly, he saw his other hand also tethered. By this time Freund had reached the bed and stood officiously, looking down on Heyes. For the first time, he was not smiling. Suddenly realizing he was in danger but unsure of anything else, Heyes felt a twinge of panic. "What's going on here?" he demanded to know.

"You are a famous man. You're going to do me a favor."

It was wrong. Everything was all wrong. Heyes knew he should have been waking happily beside the lovely young prostitute who had ended the night with him. He should have been alone in the hotel room with her; Damien Freund should not be there. And Heyes knew he felt a hangover that was not commensurate with the amount of liquor he'd consumed the night before.

"I've been drugged!" he said, startling himself with the significance.

"Yes, of course. From now on you're going to do what I want. I want you to wake up so you can start thinking clearly."

Heyes wanted this as well. The drug had been powerful and he still had trouble concentrating. He had only two coherent thoughts – he had been duped, and he wished powerfully that the Kid could be there. Now he was tied up and at the mercy of someone he now knew he should never have trusted. And another new thought startled him – Damien's exotic accent had disappeared.

"You're American!" exclaimed Heyes.

"Right again. Perhaps you are finally waking up." Damien drew the knife Heyes had admired just a few days ago and held it so it glinted in the light from the lamp. Heyes studied Damien carefully, aware that fear should be the normal response in this situation but much too angry with himself at being duped to panic. Damien was certainly NOT his friend! How could he ever have been so stupid? The haze was lifting and things were becoming clearer. Hannibal Heyes remembered the many talks he had shared with Damien during their ride. It was obvious now that he had been tricked into complacency – Damien had spoken only of things that were of interest to Heyes. Philosophy and American literature and Indian folklore and inventions and weaponry and the Civil War . . . Damien had been knowledgeable about these and many other subjects. He was intelligent and well-read and whenever Heyes brought up a subject, he had pretended to be as excited about it as Heyes was. It had seemed they were well-matched, and Heyes had let down his guard, and then there had been exotic liquor and a beautiful lady, and . . .

Damien brought the knife close to Heyes's head. "Remember I have this. And remember I know how to use it." Heyes turned his head away and thought back to the knife-throwing exhibition Damien had entertained him with a couple days ago. On the trail, they had stopped to rest. Without warning, Damien had suddenly turned, pulling his knife at the same instant, and thrown the weapon accurately at a jackrabbit that was easily fifteen yards away. Heyes himself had never even heard the animal. He had been pleasantly surprised at yet another talent he had discovered in his new friend. "Dinner," Damien had said simply. Heyes had been consumed with awe, forgetting completely about the many times he had experienced this very feeling after witnessing Kid Curry's fast draw.

But now he remembered. Kid Curry's gun would come in very handy at this moment that Damien Freund was threatening him with a knife.

The threat did not materialize, however, as Damien simply sliced quickly through the bond that secured Heyes's right hand. He pointed to the pants and shirt folded neatly at the foot of the bed and said, "Untie yourself and get dressed. We have work to do." He replaced his knife in its sheath. "Something else for you to be aware of," he said. "I also have this now." And he brandished Heyes's own gunbelt for a moment before tying it on himself. Gun intact and ready.

Still not completely understanding what was happening, Heyes hesitated. With a threatening tone of voice completely unlike him, Damien Freund picked up Heyes's shirt with the tip of his knife and threw it at him. "Get dressed NOW. Mr. Heyes."

* * *

In the morning Kid Curry retrieved his well-rested horse from the livery stable, pausing for a moment to engage the livery owner in conversation. He asked if the manager remembered Heyes and Freund leaving during the night, hoping to verify that they had headed to Mexico. At first, the liveryman showed no interest in the question.

But the Kid knew somebody as flamboyant as Damien Freund would be likely to stimulate conversation. He persisted. "It was middle of the night. They would have had to wake you up to get their horses. Freund is about 40 or so, dresses like . . . "

As he accepted his pay from the Kid, the stableman suddenly came to life. "Oh, sure, I remember, all right. Flashy fella, ruffle shirt, silver trim, just like his horse."

"That's him, and he would have been with my friend. Dark hair, not so flashy . . . "

"Oh, sure, the cowboy who rode in with you when you came into town. He left with this showy gentleman."

The Kid cringed at this, painfully aware that jealousy was the reason. Also aware that he was quite capable of ignoring his feelings when the situation demanded, and wishing he could do so now. "Do you remember which direction they went?" he asked simply.

"Oh, sure. Watched them ride out. Not much else to do that time of night. They were headed east."

This startled the Kid. "East? You sure? They were talking about heading south."

"Oh, sure, east. I recollect them jawing about going to Mexico, but the showy gentleman said they should head for New Orleans first. Something about some beautiful ladies! They didn't think I was payin' attention, but them ladies perked up my ears, middle of the night or no!" The stableman smiled, revealing one or two missing teeth. "Almost wanted to go with them!"

"New Orleans, huh? You sure?"

"Oh, sure I'm sure."

The Kid spent a few more minutes conversing with the stable manager, then turned his mount to the road heading east. Obviously not Mexico. Why on earth had Heyes allowed Freund to change their plans? Granted, the plans were makeshift anyhow, but he remembered that Heyes had seemed excited when talking about the money and the senoritas he was looking forward to. If Freund was able to change his mind at the last minute, he did indeed have a silver tongue.

That he did, thought the Kid with bitterness. From the very beginning.

Then, out of nowhere, a very sinister thought occurred to Kid Curry. The thought that maybe he was _supposed_ to think that his friend was heading to Mexico. Maybe Freund had intentionally led him on, so he would go to the wrong place if he had changed his mind and followed!

And something else was beginning to gnaw at the Kid. He was starting to think that he had seen Damien Freund somewhere else, a long time ago. And it wasn't a good memory.

* * *

Still groggy, Hannibal Heyes was unable to put up much resistance when Freund tied his hands together, in front of him. The passing thought that this would be an easy bond to break occurred to him, and he wondered why Freund chose it.

"It will take a while for the drug to wear off completely," said Damien. "Do you remember where you are?"

Heyes's memory of the night before was groggy and incomplete after meeting Marie. She must have been the one who drugged his liquor. But he did remember her telling him she had a room upstairs in the music hall and following her there. "We're in New Orleans. I think."

"That's right, New Orleans. But before you decide that calling for help will be of assistance, let me point out that we are outside the city, far outside. There are no houses near, no roads either. No one will hear you if you yell. But don't take my word for it – later on if you feel like it, give it a try."

Heyes was listening as closely as he could to every word. His drugged state did not allow for instant understanding, but he managed to glean the general meaning. "What do you mean – later on?"

"Heyes, you will be here for a while. Maybe quite a while. Maybe weeks. Time will tell." Damien looked at the door, brandishing Heyes's own gun to make sure he would be the only one leaving.

"What's going on, Freund? Why do you think I'm valuable? Who is this Heyes fella? What's with this?" Heyes held up his tied hands for emphasis.

Freund laughed. "I spoke with Marie this morning. You did not tell her who you really were. I thought perhaps in the throes of passion you might have let that slip. I'm impressed, Heyes." He checked the ropes on Heyes's wrists for security. "Play if you want. In fact, do whatever you want. You'll be alone for a while." He paused. "Think about it, Heyes. If I didn't know who you were, why would I be doing this?" He laughed again. "Well, just so you don't think too badly about me, let me tell you that you are well provided for here. Oh, and another thing – I think you should know that some of my little stories were quite true. Such as – I really have spent several years in Europe lately. Maybe one or two others. You'll have plenty of time to decide which were true and which were downright lies."

Heyes seethed. He was being toyed with. An impossible situation made worse by his tied hands and the fact that someone he had recently trusted was holding a gun on him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Freund suddenly bolted through the door. As he left, Freund's parting words were, "I'm using you as bait, Heyes."

Heyes rushed to the door but did not make it in time before he heard the key turn in the lock. A moment later he was very surprised to hear the sound of hammering. Freund was also nailing the door shut!

When the hammering stopped, Heyes put his ear to the door and listened intently. There was little to hear other than the sound of a horse's hoofbeats as it cantered away. Heyes held his ear to the door for several minutes after the sounds had abated. All he heard was nature settling back into its pattern. There was nothing to indicate that any human beings were anywhere nearby. Just to make sure, he spent a couple of minutes yelling for help, but somehow he knew that one of the few truths Damien had told him was the fact that no one was nearby.

Dejected, Heyes sat back down on the bed. He felt a twinge of panic but was still able to reason. Panic, he knew from a hard-lived life, was useless. A few deep breaths cleared a bit of his still-drugged head. He looked around the cabin. There was only one window and it was, of course, nailed shut from the outside. There was a fireplace but no fire at this warm time of year. Only one lantern and it was lit, with extra fuel sitting nearby. A table with matches and a candle on it and only one chair. There were no tools whatsoever. There seemed to be plenty of food and the pump looked workable. The large supply of food indicated that someone (Freund?) did not want him to die, but the amount also indicated that he would be left alone for quite a while. Left alone to die? Heyes shuddered as he remembered the parting words _I'm using you as bait, Heyes._

Hannibal Heyes did not wish to be used as bait for anyone or anything. He shook his head to help clear it and finished his quick surveillance. Books had been left for him. And a deck of cards, presumably for solitaire. No tools except pans for cooking. Not much else. Nothing that would aid him in his escape.

* * *

Kid Curry tried to enjoy the ride to New Orleans, but the pace he had set for himself somewhat interrupted this enjoyment. Now he regretted waiting even a few hours to come to the decision to look for his friend. Stupidity! It was pure stupidity on his part. Jealousy had stood in the way of clear thinking. Now he was certain that Heyes was in some kind of trouble, and that trouble – whatever it was – was being caused by Damien Freund. Once he located Heyes, the Kid knew he could save him. Freund's knife would be no match for his skills with a gun. He pictured himself rescuing Heyes – from whatever – and drawing against Freund. Maybe sending him to jail, maybe to the Devil himself. No friend of his was going to suffer at the hands of some con man!

Picturing himself as the ultimate hero, Kid Curry rode his horse at top speed as long as he could and rested for the shortest periods he could manage. They had a half-day head start on him. And he had to find Heyes as soon as possible!

* * *

Heyes's first order of business was mobility. The rope that bound his hands had to go. But Freund had managed to employ a couple of knots that only seemed to get tighter as he worked with them. As he became more vexed, he suddenly hit on the idea of using the cracked mirror that hung on a wall. He held his hands in front of the mirror and observed the knots closely from this opposite angle. This was a trick he had used in the past; the reverse image allowed him to imagine what his abductor would have been thinking as he tied the knots. Heyes's nimble fingers were not as spry as usual in this drugged state, but he still managed to satisfactorily untie the knots using his teeth in conjunction with four fingers. As he threw the rope aside, he observed his cracked image in the mirror. His reflection verified that he had not been beaten or abused, merely drugged. One good thing. Another good thought – save the rope for possible future use. He retrieved the short piece of rope and set it on the table. The mirror might come in handy, too. Heyes knew he could have used a piece of the broken mirror to cut his ropes but was grateful that he did not have to risk injury to himself. Yes, the mind was getting nimble again!

Next he had to find a way to escape. Clearly, this would be a little trickier. Heyes decided that sitting quietly and allowing his mind to wander might be of value at this time. Another trick he had used successfully in the past.

The drug he had been given was powerful and still somewhat exerting its effect on him, so thinking judiciously was out of the question. He wadded up the pillow that had been left for him and tried to relax against it. Where was he? Outside New Orleans, presumably, unless that was another lie of Freund's. He was certain that he had been in the city the night before as he had seen many signs to that effect. He had met Marie, thanks to Freund, and taken her to a room above the music hall to spend the night with her. He knew this was not the room, so he had apparently been drugged and moved during the night. Therefore, it was entirely possible that he was nowhere near New Orleans any more. Did it matter? He decided not.

This was a one-room cabin, supplied with all the goods he would need to stay alive, and very little else. Therefore it was clear that he was wanted alive. And judging by the large amount of food left for him, it seemed that he would be wanted alive at a future time. The one thing this implied was that he would have some time to come up with a good plan. He took a deep breath and relaxed a little. He was Hannibal Heyes, after all, and very sure of his own abilities.

He decided to concentrate on what his sense of hearing could perceive. He turned the lantern down very low. He held quite still, closing his eyes and focusing only on sound. There was no sound coming from within the cabin other than the beating of his own heart. From outside the cabin he heard the usual sounds of nature that he would expect – birdsong, insects, frogs. Frogs? If it was truly frogs he was hearing, then he would be near water of some kind. Certainly there was a lot of water around New Orleans. Perhaps a pond. A pond deep in the woods. Not a lake, as he would most likely hear the sounds of civilization if that were true.

His next thought was that his escape would have to be during daylight hours, as he would be forced to follow the tracks Damien had left, in order to leave the woods safely. And this meant escaping as soon as possible, in case rain should alter the tracks. Then and there Heyes decided to make his escape at first light in the morning.

But what time was it now? The timepiece he had been carrying had been stolen, as well as his money and all of his possessions. And of course his horse and its saddle and saddlebags were most likely not waiting conveniently outside for him. All he really had was the clothing he was wearing.

Heyes jumped up and walked over to the fireplace. He knelt down and looked up through the chimney. Too small for a man to fit through. It was also quite soot-filled, but it was possible to see light through the dirt. He stayed in that position for a few minutes, in order to ascertain which direction the sun was heading. Now he knew which direction was west. From this and from remembering the direction Damien's hoofbeats had gone, he drew a conclusion as to where outside the city he had been taken. He was also fairly certain from the angle of the sun that it was afternoon.

Satisfied that he was beginning to think expediently again, Heyes dusted himself off and sat back down on the bed. All right, now – WHY was he being kept there?

Any number of possibilities presented themselves to him, and not a single one was attractive or acceptable. Since Damien obviously knew his true identity, most likely he intended to somehow use this information. "I'm using you as bait, Heyes." That's what he had said. Bait. A worm lures a fish. A wanted outlaw lures bigger rewards. $10,000 rewards, in fact.

Or was he being used in a plot to draw something – or someone – else? Was his very presence so compelling that someone or something would be willing to come out of hiding to find him? And when that trap had been sprung, what would become of him?

Heyes shook his head to dismiss that thought. It wouldn't matter if he escaped tomorrow.

He chose an apple from among the fresh fruit on the table. As he munched on it, he came up with at least three possibilities for escape. He smiled at his own cleverness.

* * *

It was night when Kid Curry rode into New Orleans. The Kid walked his horse through the streets of New Orleans in search of . . . he wasn't sure what. This was a very foreign city to him – he had never seen the likes of such a place before. There were the usual familiar saloons and hotels and dry goods stores and so on, but he also saw storefronts that advertised things like "magic" and "palm reading" and "love potions." Very strange. Most of the people he encountered looked normal to him, but one woman who was unlocking the door to a store called "Voodoo Dolls and Paraphernalia" was wearing a red and orange silk robe and had long gold jangly things coming off her ears and hair. Other than the strange attire, she was very attractive, and the Kid made a mental note to visit her after he knew Heyes was safe. He assumed that a woman as lovely as her had to make beautiful dolls; this is how he would start a conversation with her. He could also ask her what a "paraphernalia" was, and maybe buy one if it wasn't too expensive.

The Kid checked in at a nearby hotel, an ornate looking building, and attempted to dicker with the desk clerk when told the outrageous price of the rooms. He assumed his gunfighter look but the clerk held his ground, explaining that his customer would have trouble finding anything in a different price range in New Orleans. "Lots of people come here," explained the clerk haughtily. "This is a magic city. Best you get used to that!"

The Kid was tired, so he took his meager belongings upstairs to his room, pondering the "magic city" statement. Looking out his streetside window, he spent a few minutes considering what he was likely to run into in New Orleans. "Magic city," the clerk had said. The Kid remembered some of the things that Damien Freund had promised that night in the Texas saloon. _Even in America you will find pure magic. Some white magic and some black magic . . ._

Magic. Something the Kid did not understand. And Freund had promised sexual thrills from beautiful women, something he understood well, and so did Heyes. The tempting apple. Perhaps the magic was the worm. And Freund was the Devil. Kid Curry shivered involuntarily. What had Heyes gotten himself into? Good thing he himself had finally arrived to save him!

* * *

The apple had been tasty, so Heyes chose another. He took the lantern and wandered over to the side of the cabin where a stack of books was organized nicely, supposedly for him. Yes, they were for him to pass the time, all right. Perusing the titles, he came across books that discussed philosophy and books about Indian history, and there were several fairly new releases that discussed the Civil War. Heyes chose an interesting volume and smiled, flattered that Freund had made an effort to remember his interests. Even though he was well aware that Freund's unknown purpose had been nefarious, nonetheless he appreciated the backhanded compliment. He settled back against the pillow and began to read. As he read, he found his mind wandering. Odd, he thought. He had just put a great deal of thought into his situation now and in the near future and he had made viable plans. It was time to relax and simply await his opportunity, so why couldn't he concentrate?

Jed Curry. That was the reason. The Kid. Heyes had been so wrapped up in himself the past few hours that he'd forgotten about his best friend. A small smile came to his lips as he thought about the Kid, but it changed to a frown as he remembered how they had parted. Heyes realized that he had barely given his cherished friend a second thought in the days that he'd spent with Freund.

And the Kid had been right about Freund. Usually it was Heyes's instincts that were spot-on, but this time it was Kid Curry whose beliefs were the correct ones. Heyes, for the first time possibly ever, momentarily regretted the fact that the two of them usually trusted Heyes to make the right decision. Clearly he was wrong this time, and look where it got him. And the Kid – where was he? They had parted without any plans whatsoever to meet up again. Heyes knew the Kid believed he had headed to Mexico. If the Kid decided to follow, and there was a chance he might, he would not even be coming to New Orleans to find him. He wouldn't even be looking in the right country. He'd be off on some wild goose chase that would leave him frustrated and he would most likely stop trying to find Heyes. Not ever seeing each other again would certainly put an end to their friendship. Heyes closed the book and sighed. Part of his escape plan involved getting even with Freund, but he knew in his heart that that wasn't important compared to re-kindling his friendship with the Kid.

Heyes took a look around the cabin and quickly reviewed the escape plan he would put into effect at first light in the morning. This time it ended without repercussions to Damien Freund. Someone else was more important.

* * *

Kid Curry slept late the following morning, somewhat against his wishes. He skipped breakfast entirely, choosing instead to wander the town to get the lay of the land. By late morning, his stomach was growling and he decided it was in his best interests to spend a few minutes at lunch.

He truly enjoyed the meal he had at a moderately-priced restaurant. The aroma of the place had been enticing and the food had lived up to the taste he'd expected. Spicier than he'd thought, but quite tasty. Well, certainly the food in this town was magic, anyhow.

The Kid sat on a bench outside the restaurant and fingered a toothpick while he people-watched. No one in New Orleans seemed to be wearing Western-style clothing, and he supposed the looks he got from other people were due to his hat.

Or his gun. Some men were wearing knife-holsters, like Damien Freund did. Maybe it made more sense to fight black magic with a knife than with a gun. Kid Curry didn't believe in magic, no matter what color, but he was beginning to have an inkling that there was something not quite . . . _right_. . . about this town. While he was considering the possibility of purchasing a knife, he realized that a large woman who had been walking by had stopped to stare at him.

He tipped his hat but didn't smile because she was frowning. She stood just a few feet in front of him and seemed to be studying him. "Ma'am?" he asked, but she did not answer. Rude, he thought, so he studied her as well. She had very dark skin and was of indeterminate age. Her hair was hidden under an elaborate scarf or hat of some kind and she was wearing a gigantic shawl around her shoulders that covered a colorful dress. The jewelry she was wearing did not look like any kind of jewelry he had seen before – not made of precious metals but made of things from the earth, some dangling and some tied around her arm.

She did not speak and the Kid became more perplexed and unnerved as she continued to stare at him. Suddenly she looked off down the street and then rushed over to him and sat right next to him. The Kid had been sitting in the middle of the bench and had to quickly move to one side to make room for her ample form. The smell of her perfume (something earthy, like herbs) was overpowering to him, and he was not happy with the situation. He was about to say something to her when he heard the voice of a woman from the street. It took him a moment to realize that this woman was addressing his new bench partner rather than him.

"You no priestess!"

His benchmate yelled back at the woman in the street. "He my customer. You go!"

"You no priestess!"

"I say you go!" His benchmate reached into a cloth bag slung over her shoulder and held out some kind of amulet in front of her. The woman who had yelled at her spit in the street and walked away in disgust.

The Kid's benchmate waited until the other woman was out of sight, then replaced the amulet in her bag and returned her gaze to the Kid's face, now only inches away.

Her new proximity did nothing to alleviate his distaste for her. "I'm not your customer," the Kid said. "Whatever you're selling."

He may as well have been quoting Euclid for all she paid attention. Still sitting right next to him, she looked him up and down and then finally spoke to him. "You looking for someone," she said. "A man. Same height as you. Dark hair."

This was the most unnerving thing of all. How could she possibly have known that? Unconsciously he moved away a little. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said unconvincingly.

She paid no attention to his words and continued to scrutinize his face. "You no lost. He lost." She scrunched her eyebrows. "You think he here. You think he in New Orleans." She laughed.

Even her laughter was unnerving. "What if I do?" said the Kid in spite of himself.

"I find him. You pay me. I find man."

"Not a chance!" There was little about this dark woman that the Kid understood, nor did he have any intention of imparting any of his money to her. Ignoring her stunning revelations, he allowed his distaste for her to overtake him. The smell of the herbs and who-knows-what-all-else was overpowering and her laughter seemed evil, so he stood to leave. She grabbed his jacket and pulled him back down.

"You pay. I find," she insisted. When he only looked away from her in disgust, she stood suddenly and spread her arms, making her shawl appear to be wings. "You change you mind, I know," she said, laughing. "Or you be sorry." And she finally left, looking back over her shoulder at him occasionally as she walked out of sight. He noticed she was still laughing.

A very strange encounter. Kid Curry wondered if he was likely to find that everyone in this town was strange. Hotel clerks who argue with you, and men who wear knives, and dark women who can read your mind. He shuddered. He wished fervently that Heyes was already with him, someone he had known all his life, someone he cared about, someone who was predictable, someone who was . . . _lost._

Just like she said.

* * *

Slightly rested, Hannibal Heyes woke but was unable to get back to sleep. He sat up in bed and tried to estimate from the meager light filtering through the soot in the chimney what time it was. Deciding it was around 4 or 5 am, he then turned the lantern high. Time to get to work. There was a bucket under the pump so he filled it with water. He appreciated the feeling of the cool clean water that he splashed on his face but regretted the fact that no razor had been left for him. Maybe Freund thought he might use it to slit his wrists in his "impossible" situation. He chuckled; Freund might have known who he really was but Freund had no idea how nimble his brain was.

He re-filled the bucket and set it on the floor next to the nailed-shut window. There was no glassware for him to get a drink but there was a canteen. He opened it, smelled inside, decided it was clean enough to use, and filled it with water. He set the canteen next to the bucket. He looked around for any other container that might hold water, found a few bowls, and filled them as well. They also went on the floor near the window.

As he worked, he ate some of the fruit that had been left for him. There was beef jerky as well, but he knew the fruit would spoil, so he ate that and merely put the jerky in his pockets for later.

Next he spread his blanket across the table, making sure to move the lantern away from the cloth so it would not accidentally catch on fire. He grabbed the books from the floor where they had been left for him and arranged them neatly on the blanket. As he worked, he admired some of the titles that Freund had hand-picked for him. Some of these books would be worth some money, he thought.

The books made a nice pile. On top of them he placed the loaf of bread that had been left for him and some of the fruit. He thought about adding more things, such as the canned food, but decided he had enough. He raised the corners of the blanket up over the whole pile and secured them so nothing was likely to fall out. He lifted the blanket pile up to test its weight. Heavy, but easily carried. This he also set near the water containers, but not quite as close to the window.

Next he retrieved the rope that had originally been used to bind his hands. He frayed one end of it and separated just the end into fibers. The rope then was laid next to the other items by the window.

The last thing needed for his escape were the towels. These he soaked in the bucket until he was sure they were very wet. He then turned the lantern low enough to check the light filtering through the chimney again. Yes, it was getting lighter. Time to make his escape!

* * *

Kid Curry at first resisted the idea of speaking with local law enforcement officials to glean information about Freund and/or Heyes, but several casual encounters with local townspeople yielded no helpful information so he changed his mind. He was told the location of the police department headquarters, so he headed in that direction. As he approached what he believed to be the correct building, he noticed a uniformed officer standing outside and chatting with a dark woman. The same woman who had forced herself next to him on the bench!

He really did not desire a second encounter with her, so before he would be noticed, he turned around to walk away.

"I see you!" she yelled at him. Without looking in his direction! He turned back toward them and stared at her with a look of disgust.

"I know you come here. I wait for you!" She laughed again and turned to look at him.

"We really have nothing to say to each other," said the Kid, hoping for, and not expecting, the best.

The policeman was beginning to take an interest. "Miz Beulah," he said to the woman, "have you been bothering this gentleman?"

The Kid didn't really want to get her in trouble. He just wanted to be rid of her. "We met a few hours ago," he explained to the policeman. "We really don't have any business . . ."

"That depend," Miz Beulah interrupted. "You want to find man? Man with dark hair? Your height? You pay me; I find."

The Kid shook his head. "No thank you, I'll find him myself, if it's all the same to you."

"You heard him, Miz Beulah," the policeman told her sternly. "He doesn't want your help. Now you stop bothering this gentleman and get on your way."

She patted the policeman's arm and turned away, laughing. "He will! He will!" She gave the Kid a piercing look and walked slowly away, looking back occasionally to see both of them still watching her.

When she had turned a corner and was no longer in sight, Kid Curry breathed a sigh of relief. "You know her?" he asked the policeman.

"Everyone on the Force knows Miz Beulah. She's a Voodoo priestess. Or so she says. Nobody really understands her. Me, I don't hold with Voodoo. But lots here believe in it. Where you from?"

For some reason, the question surprised the Kid. "Oh, Texas most recently. I'm trying to find a friend of mine. I believe he recently came to New Orleans."

"What's his name?"

"Joshua Smith. He's with a man named Damien Freund. Freund probably lived here once. Any idea if you've seen them? Any strangers in town lately?"

The policeman laughed, but unlike Miz Beulah, his laugh was kind. "New Orleans attracts lots of people. Strangers in town every day. I wouldn't have any idea. But you can describe them to me and I can keep an eagle eye out for them."

"Mr. Freund is a flashy dresser – ruffled shirt, some silver trim, I don't know what all. Mr. Smith is much more sensible. My friend – Mr. Smith – is my height and age and has dark hair. Mr. Freund is in his early 40s and has an accent . . ."

"An accent? Everyone has an accent. But I'll pay attention when I make my rounds. Where you staying?"

"At the Old French Hotel. Room four."

"Why didn't you want Miz Beulah to help you find him?"

The Kid couldn't believe what he just heard but the question had been asked innocently enough. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, she's a pest, but she _is_ clairvoyant. She can probably help you if you're willing to put up with her!"

* * *

Heyes wasted no time in securing his escape. Time was always an enemy, one of many. Damien Freund was an enemy too, of course, but he would have to wait until after Heyes found the Kid.

Everything was ready for him, so he got right to work. The first thing he did was break the glass in the window and remove all the shards so he would not get cut. He pushed against the boards that had been nailed to the outside of the window to try somehow to remove or loosen them. As he had suspected, they were tightly nailed on; the possibility of his escape was apparently unthinkable to Freund. So his plan would have to continue.

He then grabbed the rope that he had prepared and stuffed one end of it into the left seam of the window caused by the frame and the window itself, halfway down. He stretched the rope taut across the boards to the right seam and stuffed the rope on that side of the frame as securely as he could. The rope was a few inches too long and he allowed the frayed end to hang down. This was all in his plan, and he smiled.

Next he grabbed one of the wet rags and doused the wood all around the outside of the rectangle caused by the rope and the bottom half of the window. He made sure that the wood outside this rectangle was very wet but he did not allow any of the water to drip inside this rectangle. He also dampened the rope where it was stretched across the window, but not the part that hung down.

He then used one of the dry rags to dab lantern oil all over the wood on the inside of the rectangle. When he was satisfied that this area of wood was saturated, he threw the rag in the fireplace. With a match he lit the frayed end of the rope, which allowed him time to stand back before the entire bottom half of the window caught fire. He found that he had underestimated how quickly the fire would catch on, but there was no problem. He watched satisfactorily as the old dry wood that had secured him in his prison burned away. The smoke was a little strong but he put the last wet rag over his mouth and nose for protection. Only the wood that had been soaked in the lamp oil was burning, thanks to his having prepared the area around it with water. He watched closely to be sure the flames did not spread outside this area, and whenever a spark or cinder fell on the floor he doused it quickly from one of his water sources. In a few minutes, he decided that the time had come to test his escape, so he grabbed the legs of the chair and pushed the chair hard into the burning boards with all his strength.

Success! The boards had burned through just enough for him to be able to knock them away. Some of them fell outside where presumably they continued burning on the ground. He looked at the hole to the outside and smiled again. The hole was big enough for him to wiggle through, so he splashed water on the remaining flames until he was satisfied that the fire was out. Next he leaned out the window and threw water on the burning boards.

Another Hannibal Heyes plan leading to success!

* * *

It was almost dark before Kid Curry found his way back to his hotel. He had spent the day walking and interviewing people and drinking and more of the same, and he was tired of being on his feet and he was worn out emotionally. He had discovered absolutely nothing about Heyes or Freund; no one could remember seeing either of them. He was beginning to think he had gone to the wrong place after all. His hotel was just around the corner, and he started entertaining thoughts of leaving in the morning except he did not know where he'd go, and . . .

Miz Beulah!

He was completely startled by her sudden appearance. Miz Beulah was sitting casually in a rocker on the porch of his hotel!

"You tired. You give up now?" she asked him, laughing gently.

The Kid sighed. "How did you know I was staying here?" he asked wearily.

"I Priestess Beulah. I know everything. You no find man; I find man for you. Only five dollars." She patted the rocker next to her as an invitation to him to sit.

Kid Curry's feet hurt and so did his pride. He was weary and disheartened and knew he needed to do something to cheer himself up so he would be ready to face the next day. What could it hurt to talk to her? He remembered the policeman's innocent question. All right, maybe Miz Beulah could provide a laugh or two.

Kid Curry sat next to her and tried to relax into the chair. But, as before, he just could not find himself at ease around someone as strange as her. She was just as exotic as Damien Freund, although earthier.

"What you name? Who you look for?"

"My name is Jones," sighed the Kid. "I'm looking for someone named Damien Freund."

She looked at him strangely and turned her head to the side. "I no help you if you lie to me," she said.

"What do you mean? I'm looking for a man named Damien Freund."

"That not man you looking for. That not dark hair man. What name of dark hair man?"

"All right. His name is Joshua Smith. The one I really want to find is Joshua Smith."

Miz Beulah frowned. "That not name either. Why you lie to me?"

How could she _possibly_ have known that? Maybe the policeman was right about her having special powers. He fidgeted, unsure what to do. He certainly could not give out Hannibal Heyes's real name. It was a dilemma. But she was good – so far – so he decided to test the waters. "I'll tell you his name is Heyes. That's all I'm going to tell you."

She nodded her head. "That all I need. That and five dollars." She held out her hand.

Kid Curry handed Miz Beulah a five-dollar gold piece. She grabbed it greedily and bit into it. Apparently satisfied, she shoved it into her bodice. She stood up and walked slowly around him, staring at him relentlessly as she had the first time they had met. She removed his hat and hung it on the back of the chair. She reached down and touched the bottom of one of his boots. She grabbed his arm with one hand and rolled up his sleeve with the other, looking intently at his wrist. Then she did the same with the other arm. The Kid was mystified and somewhat appalled at her erratic behavior, but she seemed harmless enough so he resolved to find her amusing, nothing more. He relaxed.

"That good," she said simply. She walked behind him and grabbed his head gently with both hands. He resisted the temptation to flinch. She rubbed the sides of his head. "What you see?" she asked.

The Kid decided to play along. "I see the street. Nighttime. Not many people out."

"What else?"

"Well . . . not much. Buildings. Some stores. Some horses. Not much." Her touch on his temples was beginning to deeply relax him.

"Now close eyes; tell me what you see."

"What?"

"Do what Priestess Beulah say. Close eyes." Her words were now soft and gentle. She continued to rub his temples gently and purposefully. This, and the smell of the omnipresent herbs, had a hypnotizing effect on the Kid. Suddenly he heard nothing except her voice. "Now what you see?"

"Just darkness."

"Missing man your friend. Missing friend in darkness, too. Look for friend."

The Kid wanted to ask her what she meant, but found it easier to comply than to speak. He began to picture Heyes's face, happy that he was able to remember an image other than the angry face he had seen last.

"You see friend Heyes?"

"Yes," the Kid whispered.

"Friend in darkness."

"Yes."

"Where friend?"

The Kid wasn't sure what she meant, but believed that it didn't matter. He continued to visualize Heyes and tried to concentrate on what he might be doing. In the image, Heyes was alone, not with him. The thought that this should sadden him crossed the Kid's mind but at this moment it didn't seem important. He tried to imagine what Heyes was doing. In a moment, the vision became clear.

"Heyes is walking. It's dawn."

"Where he go?"

"Here. He's coming here."

"Good!" Miz Beulah suddenly removed her hands from the Kid's head. The Kid opened his eyes and was startled to hear the normal noises of the night again. The spell was broken! He shook his head to clear it.

"Friend Heyes be here soon," she said. "We wait."

* * *

Friend Heyes was indeed on his way there. That morning, after his daring escape from the cabin, Heyes stepped outside and hung around a few minutes to make sure no smoldering fire remained that might flare up again. After all, he had no desire to burn down the building, just to get away. He would have to re-fill his canteen since all of his water sources had been used to douse the fire, so he stepped back inside to retrieve it as well as the blanket full of books. When he stepped back outside, he noticed that there was a corral with a small outbuilding. Another great idea occurred to him, so he checked the outbuilding and was gratified to find some rusty nails. No hammer or other tools, but this would work.

Laying the nails on the ground outside the burnt window, he stepped back inside the cabin. There he looked for some wood he might be able to use. There was a rough cabinet built around the dry sink, so he muscled a few boards loose from it. Holding the boards, he stepped back out through the hole and poked his head back inside to check for anything that might have slipped his mind. Everything looked fine, so he held up a board over the hole in the window and nailed it to the building using the narrow end of another board. He repeated this with the other boards until the window was once again nailed shut. From a distance it probably looked exactly as it had when Freund had secured him inside the cabin yesterday. Heyes laughed smugly and threw the couple extra boards behind the outbuilding, where they would not be seen by anyone coming to check to make sure he was still secured. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air but that would disappear soon.

The sun was now high enough in the sky to make travel easy for Hannibal Heyes. He slung the filled canteen over his shoulder and picked up his blanketed pile of books and food and headed away from the cabin through the woods, following the tracks of the man who had left him there.

He didn't know it yet, but he was only a day's walk from New Orleans and his friend Kid Curry.

* * *

The Kid looked at Miz Beulah in disgust. "When are you going to do something?" he asked. "Just sitting here waiting for my friend is no good. What did I pay you five dollars for, anyhow?"

"You wait. Friend Heyes come here."

The Kid was getting angry. "I asked you to do something for the five dollars. Help me find Heyes."

"No need," she said simply. "You already find him."

Kid Curry resisted the temptation to shout at Miz Beulah. She had done absolutely nothing except annoy him ever since their first meeting. He controlled himself and simply glared at her. After a moment, he stood. "I'm going to go find my friend," he said, barely able to control his anger. "And then I'm going to come back and find you. And get back my five dollars."

For the second time, she grabbed his jacket and pulled him back into his chair. "You leave, he no find you," she explained as if it made perfect sense. "You be patient – friend Heyes be here soon."

The Kid sighed. "And where exactly did you get that crazy idea?"

"From you. You say he leave at dawn. He walking. He be here soon. You wait."

"Lady . . . " Kid Curry was beginning to truly lose his temper. Part of his anger was directed at himself. He knew that he had been sitting next to her for a while but could only remember a few moments of it. Something had happened to a chunk of time that he could not account for. Had he actually told her something crazy like that and for some reason didn't remember it? "Lady . . ." he repeated.

"No lady," she said. "Priestess Beulah." She laughed again. "I say you wait." When she was satisfied that he wasn't going anywhere, she reached into that bag of hers again and pulled out a well-thumbed small book, which she started reading. The Kid thought it might be a Bible, but when he looked closely at it, he realized that it was not Biblical at all. There was writing in a language he didn't understand, and it had illustrations that looked like . . . well, like the Devil!

Kid Curry sat for a few minutes quietly to let her read, but quickly became frustrated. He was doing absolutely nothing to find Heyes. And he was hungry.

He stood and said, "I'm going inside to eat supper."

Once again, she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back into the chair. "You no leave. You want friend Heyes? He no see you if you no here."

"Stop grabbing me!" The Kid was tired of being manhandled by Miz Beulah, although he had to admit that the temple massage had felt soothing. He was about to stand again when she stood instead.

"Give me money," she said matter-of-factly. "I bring food to you. You wait here!" She held out her hand.

"You've got five dollars! Pay for it yourself!"

Miz Beulah narrowed her eyes, but then laughed. She walked inside the hotel in the direction of the dining room. Looking back over her shoulder at him, she yelled, "You remember – you no go nowhere! Friend Heyes see you soon!"

Disgusted, Kid Curry leaned his head on his fist. He wished he could find a way to stop doing the things she wanted.

* * *

Hannibal Heyes was not having a difficult time following Freund's horse's hoofprints through the uneven woods. He knew he was following the right path because he could see two clear sets of prints – the ones going to the cabin and the ones leaving. One set was deeper than the other – undoubtedly these were the prints left when the horse was carrying both him and Freund. Heyes lamented the fact that the burden he was carrying was heavy, but it was all part of his escape/rescue plan. Unlike the past few days, most of his thoughts were now centered on the Kid, his true friend and the only person ever, he had to admit, who he loved. More than anything on earth, he wanted to resume their friendship. He had to find the Kid again. He wanted to face him and tell him how sorry he was for leaving without him and promise he'd never do anything stupid like that again. He hoped the Kid would forgive him for his foolishness; there was certainly the chance that he would not. Heyes found that thought intolerable. This was the "rescue" part of the plan – Heyes knew he alone was responsible for their parting and he had to rescue their valuable friendship from oblivion.

Heyes continued to make his way through the woods, occasionally encountering cleared land and often discovering that he was walking next to water of some kind. He was grateful that it had not rained and he was still able to follow the tracks. Midway through the day, he set down his blanket of books and food and took out some fruit to eat. He knew he would need to rest for a few minutes. As he ate, he reflected on Jed Curry and all he had meant to his life. He wondered now in amazement that he had not given a second thought to the Kid until this morning. How could that be?

But he was full of hope that he would be able to retrieve their lost friendship.

* * *

A few minutes after she went inside the hotel, Miz Beulah returned with two plates of hot food. The Kid was mildly surprised, actually thinking she might have taken the opportunity to simply flee. She pulled a small table next to them and set the plates on it, after spending a moment to study the food intently. She handed him a fork and he presumed she herself intended to eat with her fingers.

"Is there any . . . ?" he started to ask. At the same moment, a waiter appeared with a pot of coffee and two cups, which he set on the table.

"That will be thirty cents for everything," said the waiter.

The Kid glared at Miz Beulah, who had already dug into her plate and was staring straight ahead. "Pay man," she said simply.

Rather than argue with her, the Kid dug deeply into his pants pocket and came up with enough change for the waiter. The waiter waited for a tip and, receiving none, scowled at the two of them as he went back inside the hotel.

Like his previous meal, the Kid found the food to be quite enjoyable. This particular concoction had a very earthy taste as well. His attitude melted a little but he still felt a bit of pique. As he ate, he said, "Now you owe me five dollars and thirty cents."

Miz Beulah shrugged. "One hour. Maybe two," was all she said.

* * *

It was just beginning to get dark when Hannibal Heyes detected the first sign of New Orleans – in the distance he could see lights, enough lights to constitute an entire city. He smiled. A ways back he had abandoned the woods for a well-worn road. This is where the hoofprints had led, so Heyes concluded that Freund had headed for this town. Even if he hadn't, Heyes didn't care. All he cared about at that time was finding the Kid.

His first stop would be a bookseller, where he would exchange his lovely volumes for some cash. The second stop would be a poker game wherever he could find it. This stop would also serve to provide him with non-fruit sustenance and, hopefully, increase his cash to a much larger pile. Then a good night's sleep – alone! – and in the morning he would head back for Texas, where he had left the Kid a few days earlier. Heyes couldn't help grinning at the prospect of meeting up with his friend again. He knew he owed the Kid an apology, and he would also say whatever else he needed to in order to insure their continued friendship. Heyes didn't mind humbling himself; the Kid had always been there for him.

The city still looked to be a long ways off when the sound of an approaching carriage was heard. Heyes stopped the driver and asked if he could please ride along. It was all right with the driver, so the blanketed pile was placed on the seat next to him, and Hannibal Heyes rode into New Orleans in style.

* * *

Kid Curry startled himself with the sudden realization that he was getting used to Miz Beulah. The coffee had been the best he had ever tasted, and his hotel meal had been so delicious that he even considered licking the plate. Miz Beulah was sitting quietly next to him and behaving herself, and he realized that he was in a supremely mellow mood. She was a very strange person, but the Kid began to think that he was wrong to be bothered by that. He had met many strange people before, and she was truly trying to help him. Yes, she was trying to help him locate his friend. In fact, she had guaranteed that Heyes would be arriving shortly. The Kid chuckled a little at the absurdity of that, but he began to recognize a deep warm feeling of appreciation for Miz Beulah because she was trying to help him.

Unable to control himself, Kid Curry stood up and said to Miz Beulah, "I'm sorry for being short-tempered. I really like you."

She looked at him and narrowed her eyes. Then she laughed. "You like root," she said, pointing a finger at him.

"What?" The Kid laughed along with her. Suddenly nothing seemed to bother him.

"Root," she explained. "Pretty pink flower. I grow. Root make you think nothing wrong. Make you relax, maybe sleep." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small burlap satchel containing something brownish that clearly contributed to the general smell about her. "This Val root. I grow. You troubled; you no believe friend Heyes come soon. You need root."

Kid Curry didn't understand. He was still laughing gently as he opened the little satchel for a better look. "This is Val root? All I have to do is smell it and I relax?"

She laughed. "I put on your food. You need Val root. I fix you."

He had been drugged! Somewhere in the back of his mind, the Kid knew he should be getting angry all over again. But for some reason, probably the Val root, he just didn't care. Once again a warm feeling of affection toward Miz Beulah rushed over him. He didn't understand why, but he put his arms around her, or as far as they would go, and hugged her.

Miz Beulah pulled herself free from his grip. "You sit in chair. You stay there!" She looked at him with narrowed eyes, watching as he sat back down in his chair, a silly smile on his face.

"You strange man," she said.

* * *

According to what he thought of as a coincidence, Hannibal Heyes had taken his books to the same bookseller from whom Damien Freund had purchased them. While engaging the bookstore owner in conversation, Heyes realized his mistake; there was only one store in New Orleans that sold books like these. The owner was willing to buy back his books – at a tidy profit, of course. But Heyes was satisfied as he now had a poker stake.

Now, according to the plan, the next order of business was to find a game. Heyes stepped into the street and looked around. There was an abundance of saloons. Saloons, dance halls, theaters, restaurants, you name it. Obviously the folks in New Orleans liked to have a good time. Heyes lustily remembered the fine time he had had the night before his imprisonment, but memories of the Kid back in Texas trying to protect him from the unknown broke through. The Kid arguing in vain with him and trying to keep him from traveling away with Damien Freund. And him ignoring his best friend, snubbing him, even taunting him, as he walked out the door. How could he have done that to someone he cared so much about! Freund had exerted some sort of strange influence over him and he had forgotten all about his dear friend. Well, once he found the Kid and apologized for almost ruining their friendship, he would never do such a thing again! This was a promise he intended to keep for the sake of both of them. Heyes felt his eyes tear over as he thought about Jed Curry. How strange, he thought; the drug must still be in his body. He shook his head to gain control of his feelings, but promised he would not let anything interrupt his warm thoughts of the Kid.

Finding the Kid was of utmost importance. Heyes couldn't wait to get back on the road to Texas. The sooner he found his friend, the better. Just a few hands of poker to earn enough money first . . .

* * *

Kid Curry was beginning to find it was too much trouble to sit upright so he slunk down in his chair. He started chuckling. He looked at Miz Beulah and chuckled some more. He looked at the street and chuckled some more. He looked up at the sky and . . .

"What so funny?" asked Miz Beulah with narrowed eyes.

"I don't know," said the Kid honestly. "I was just thinking about . . . I don't know what I was thinking about."

"Best you think about friend Heyes."

"OK." The Kid made a major attempt to sit up straight in his chair again. "You know, I think I need a drink. I have to start thinking, I think. I think I'll go over to that saloon." He stood unsteadily. "I think you should come along."

Yet again, Miz Beulah grabbed the gunfighter's sleeve and fearlessly pulled him back into his chair. He dropped like a dead weight, which almost certainly had to hurt, but he was still chuckling. "Now, listen, Miz Beulah, you've got to stop doing that!"

"You dumb! How many times I tell you? You sit! You sit and wait! Friend Heyes come to you!"

"Oh, good." Kid Curry seemed to have forgotten why he had stood up, anyhow. Focusing on any particular thought had become tedious, so he brought an image of Heyes into his mind. Such a dear friend! This was a pleasing thought, so he concentrated on Heyes. This was not difficult for him. And, besides, it was what Miz Beulah wanted.

* * *

Hannibal Heyes, in search of the perfect poker game, passed a couple of saloons whose doors were wide open to head for a gambling hall he spied further down the street. He kept thinking of his friend Kid Curry and reluctantly realized that he would have to suspend these thoughts for a while if he wished to make money at the poker table. On his way to the hall, he passed the Old French Hotel. Casting a quick glance at the hotel, he noticed a man who looked a lot like the Kid sitting in a rocker on the porch and gently waving to him.

This wasn't a man who looked a lot like the Kid – this WAS the Kid! Heyes stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth dropping open. Good God, how could this be? How could he possibly get this lucky? The Kid was right here – his friend, his partner, the very person he wanted more than anything in the world to see right then!

"Kid!" he yelled without thinking. He made a beeline for the hotel, only a few yards away. He ran up the few steps and reached down and grabbed the Kid in a bear hug while the Kid was still sitting in his chair. Heyes was beside himself with joy and laughing heartily. "Kid, Kid!" he kept saying.

Kid Curry was smiling but his attitude seemed somewhat less than enthusiastic. "Why, hello, Heyes," he said jovially. "You're late, but that's OK." He patted Heyes on the arm.

Miz Beulah said smugly, "He right. You late."

Heyes hugged the Kid for a minute more, until he realized he was the only one who was excited. He stood back and looked at his friend. Kid Curry had a silly grin on his face. "It's nice to see you, Heyes."

Miz Beulah said, "Miz Beulah glad. I finish here. I go home now." She stood and gathered up anything she had set down. "But Jones right," she said, shaking a finger at Heyes. "Heyes late."

Heyes lost his smile. He gaped at Miz Beulah. "Who are _you?_ How do you know who I am?" He turned to the Kid, who was still sitting and who still wore the ridiculous smile. "What's the _matter_ with you? Do you have any idea what's going on? Are you drunk or something?"

"Val root, I think it's called." The Kid turned to Miz Beulah. "Val root, right?"

"Friend Heyes here. You no need root. Jones no need Miz Beulah now." She started leaving the porch.

Suddenly the Kid jumped out of his chair, toppling Heyes. "Don't go!" he said, grabbing Miz Beulah by the scarf. "Stay for a while!"

"Miz Beulah do her job. Miz Beulah done. You no need me now. Friend Heyes here."

"No, I want you to stay! Maybe we can find something else for you to do! Maybe pay you another five dollars! Or more! Keep the thirty cents!"

Heyes looked from one to the other of them. He was totally lost. He had been looking forward to meeting up with the Kid so strongly, and now the Kid barely acknowledged him. Heyes had figured that he might meet with some resistance due to the fact that he had let the Kid down, but the Kid was _smiling_ at him. He didn't seem angry at all! In fact, the only emotion he seemed to exhibit was dismay at this dark-skinned woman's departure. This woman who knew _his_ real name!

"What the hell is going on here?" Hannibal Heyes shouted.

* * *

Heyes slept fitfully that night, partly because he had been so heavily drugged the night before, and partly because he was concerned about Kid Curry. After Miz Beulah left, the Kid had gotten very sleepy. It was all Heyes could do to get the Kid to tell him which hotel room was his and get him safely into bed before he became oblivious to everything but sleep. Heyes removed the Kid's hat and boots and covered him with a blanket, but that was all the aid he was willing to give. He sat in the chair by the window, disgusted. He had been so happy to meet up with the Kid and had figured his friend would naturally feel the same way. But the reception he'd gotten was lukewarm. He'd never even gotten a chance to tell the Kid that he'd been kidnapped. He'd been hoping for at least a little bit of sympathy but the Kid fell asleep before he even could mention it!

Obviously the Kid must have cared enough to think through the possibilities, because he'd shown up here in New Orleans instead of Mexico, so of course that meant something. But even though he was in New Orleans, he wasn't _doing_ anything! He was just sitting on the porch of his hotel. Like he was waiting for Heyes to find _him!_

And that strangely-clad dark-skinned woman! She knew his name! But she called the Kid Jones, so she obviously didn't know who they really were. Heyes figured she had drugged the Kid with some kind of sleeping potion called Val Root; perhaps she was planning on robbing him when he fell asleep. Heyes puffed up his chest a bit, figuring he was a hero by intervening in time. But the Kid seemed to _like_ her! He even offered to pay her to stay! Nothing made sense. Heyes shook his head; it had been a very long, tiring day and he was tired of thinking. He decided to sleep in the bed next to the Kid but before he could stand up, Heyes fell asleep in the chair.

* * *

After shaving the next morning, Hannibal Heyes decided his partner had slept long enough. He shoved the Kid rudely and said, "Hey! Wake up!"

Kid Curry sat up quickly and reached for his gunbelt, which, he discovered, was not hanging on the bedpost but on his hip. Confused, he looked around the room and spied Heyes glaring at him.

"Heyes!" he called happily. "It _is_ you! I thought I dreamed it!"

"Oh, it's me, all right," said Heyes angrily. "You probably don't remem . . . " He did not have a chance to finish his sentence because the Kid had jumped out of bed to hug him. Now this was more like it! It seemed he was appreciated after all. Heyes's belligerent attitude began melting.

The Kid pulled away but still held on to Heyes with one hand. "Last night is a little blurry, but I've got to tell you – I was never so glad to see anyone in my life!"

Belligerence completely gone. Heyes smiled broadly. "Well, likewise, Kid. I was thinking I'd have to go all the way back to Texas to find you!"

"You sure are a sight for sore eyes." The Kid sat back down on the bed, all smiles.

Heyes sat back in his chair. "Kid, I'm sorry. I really mean it. I was such a . . . such a . . . well, I was downright stupid to believe the lies Freund told me. You saw right through him, didn't you?"

Their smiles were beginning to fade with the memory of their last meeting, but this time all the warm feelings were still there. It seemed safe to talk about now. "Not at first, Heyes, but after a while. Or maybe not that so much as . . . as . . . " Kid Curry couldn't bring himself to admit that he'd been jealous. But the look on Heyes's face said that he understood. "I just didn't trust him, is all," he finished softly.

"You were right, Kid. From now on I'll trust your instincts. Almost everything he said was a lie. He tricked me into coming to New Orleans instead of Mexico. I think he said Mexico in front of you to throw you off the track."

"Yeah, I know."

"Kid, he _kidnapped_ me! He had me drugged and he locked me in a cabin outside of town. I don't know his purpose but the last thing he said was that he was using me as bait."

Kid Curry listened quietly to this last part, but it was clear he was very bothered with this news. "Why?" he asked threateningly.

"I don't know, but I intend to find out. Now that I don't have to go back to Texas to hook up with you, Damien Freund is the next item on the agenda."

* * *

Kid Curry enjoyed another delicious meal, this time breakfast, and it was made all the more special by the fact that his friend was alive and well and not angry and in the same room. It didn't get much better than that. During the meal, Heyes related to his friend all that he had gone through because of Damien.

After breakfast, the two of them went outside to sit on the hotel porch. The same chairs occupied by the Kid and Miz Beulah the night before.

"Heyes, what did you think of Miz Beulah?" asked the Kid excitedly.

"I think she's very strange . . . but I'm seeing a lot of strange folks around here."

"She found you, you know! She told me you would be walking into town and she was right!"

"Sure, Kid. I think that was the Val root talking."

"No, no it wasn't! It's true that she drugged me without me knowing about it, but she did it after she said that you would be coming here."

Heyes found this statement to be of interest. "Oh? And how did she know that?"

" _I_ told her! That's right – _I_ told her! She put her hands on my head like this . . ." Kid Curry applied his hands to Heyes's head in much the same way Miz Beulah had massaged his head, causing Heyes to say "Hey!" and pull away. "That's it, Heyes. She just massaged my head and talked soft and asked me questions about you, and all the other sounds went away and all I could hear was her voice. But I could see you in my mind and I could see you walking into town. So that's how I knew!"

Heyes straightened his hair, somewhat disgusted. "Sounds like she hypnotized you. Cheap trick of a con artist."

"Not so cheap," said the Kid, laughing. "I gave her a 5-dollar gold piece."

Now Heyes was truly disgusted. "Then an expensive trick. But still a con artist! I hope you learned something from this, Kid."

"I did! I learned she can do anything! You and I both want to find Freund and get even with him. We should hire her to help us find him."

"Oh, come on, Kid, be reasonable. She didn't do anything. You wanted to see me coming here so you just imagined it! The whole thing was your idea – she had nothing to do with it!"

Kid Curry stood his ground. "I figure you'd say that, but she's got some kind of magic powers, Heyes. I know five dollars is a lot of money, but she can save us a lot of time by finding him right away!"

"You're loco! I've got an idea. And it's not magical and it'll save us even more time! Let's go back to that bookstore and talk to the guy who sold Freund the books. He probably knows all his regular customers. He can tell us where Freund lives, if he lives in New Orleans, anyway."

The Kid sighed. "I'm not going to be able to convince you, am I?" By way of answer, Heyes grabbed his friend by the shoulders and ushered him off the hotel porch.

* * *

As they approached the book shop, they were met with a sight that stunned Heyes and made the Kid very happy. Miz Beulah was standing right outside!

"Miz Beulah!" called the Kid happily.

"This is insane," grumbled Heyes under his breath.

"Now _you_ need Priestess Beulah," she said, pointing a finger at Heyes.

"How did you know . . . ?" the Kid started to say, but Heyes pushed him into the shop, sternly telling Miz Beulah "no thank you" as they passed her.

A few minutes later, they emerged. Miz Beulah was of course waiting patiently. Heyes's idea had turned out to be a dud. The bookseller had no idea where Damien Freund lived. He knew the man from Heyes's description and knew that he was a customer who came in occasionally, but other than that, he wasn't much help.

"She can help us, Heyes," said Kid Curry enthusiastically.

"What can she do – drug us and take our money? I think we'll do all right without that kind of help."

Miz Beulah spat on the ground. "Heyes just like Jones at first," she said irritably. "You want man. I find man. But you no believe. You pay me – I make you believe."

Heyes fumed. For the moment, he had no other ideas. And it didn't help that his best friend was urging him. "Come on, Heyes, what can it hurt? She's good – and it's only five dollars!"

Hannibal Heyes was drawing a blank. He had absolutely no idea what to do next, no idea how to go about finding Damien Freund. He just couldn't think straight for some reason. Perhaps if those two weren't standing right there jabbering this nonsense . . .

Heyes gave the Kid a withering look. He looked at this strange dark-skinned woman who was scowling at him. He debated in his mind for a moment, then . . . he reached in his vest pocket for a five-dollar gold piece! "Damn it, you'd better be right about this!" he hissed to the Kid.

Miz Beulah greedily grabbed the gold piece before Heyes even offered it to her. She once again bit into it. But then she said, "This down payment. I find man – then you give Miz Beulah one more five-dollar gold!"

"What!?" bellowed Heyes. "You charged him _five_ dollars, not ten!"

"Jones nice man," she answered belligerently. "You not so nice!"

The Kid bit back a smile as Heyes glared at him. "We'll settle up later," Heyes hissed to his partner.

So the deal was struck. Two of the three of them were enthusiastic.

* * *

They walked back the short distance to the hotel. Miz Beulah sternly instructed Heyes to sit in one chair and she sat in the other. After settling in, which took a moment, she reached into her bag and pulled out the same amulet she had displayed the day before, kissed it, and placed it inside her bodice next to, presumably, her new gold piece. Then she turned to Heyes and stared at him.

He became uncomfortable with her unwavering gaze and looked to the Kid for explanation. Kid Curry was standing nearby, watching closely. If he was laughing at Heyes on the inside, he was certainly keeping his composure. After a moment under Miz Beulah's silent scrutiny, Heyes said, "This is ridiculous!" and stood up.

As she had with his partner, Miz Beulah pulled Heyes rudely back into the chair. "You sit!" she commanded. "What wrong with you two? You like jack-in-boxes!"

Heyes seethed and stared back at her. After a moment, she said, "You looking for someone. A man. Man flashy. Man not friend. Man name . . . Damien Freund."

Heyes refused to be baited. "Now, hold on a minute!" he yelled. There's no way you could have known his name!"

"Yeah, there is," the Kid chuckled. "I told her yesterday."

Heyes glared at his partner for a minute and then looked back at Miz Beulah, who was laughing. "I good but not _that_ good!" she said.

"I've had enough of this nonsense." Heyes stood again, but Miz Beulah grabbed his jacket sleeve and pulled him harshly back into the chair. This time she hung on to the sleeve and rolled it up, looking intently at his wrist. Just like with the Kid, she then examined his other arm. She removed his hat and hung it on the back of the chair. She grabbed one of his hands and touched the bottom of his boot at the same time. Watching, the Kid remembered this gesture. It looks like she's forming a circle, he thought. I know what's next.

Just like Kid Curry thought, Miz Beulah placed her hands on each side of Hannibal Heyes's head, much to her customer's chagrin. He clearly was not enjoying this attention. When he opened his mouth to speak, she said softly, "You relax. You think of man Damien Freund. You think why you want him." She started rubbing his temples in a circular motion.

And Heyes _did_ relax! He began to feel his anger and chagrin simply melt away. Her touch was soft and gentle and steady. She continued to say soothing things to him – nonsense syllables, he thought, but he wasn't sure. His mind wasn't a blank, but it was difficult for him to concentrate. Hannibal Heyes liked to be in control at all times, and he recognized that he was being manipulated by this strange woman who was gently massaging his temples. He didn't understand. The only coherent thought he had was that he would like to start thinking again, but uncharacteristically he was unworried about his lack of control. Then a clear thought came into his mind, an image. An image of Damien Freund. Heyes concentrated on it. He saw Damien's face, and he saw Damien's flashy clothes and his knife-holster, and he saw Damien sitting. On a chair or a divan. Made of velvet. Damien was talking – saying a number? Heyes tried to talk but couldn't hear his own words. He knew that should be disturbing but he was not worried. He tried talking again, but . . .

Miz Beulah removed her hands. Suddenly the world rushed back into Heyes's head. The spell was broken! He looked around and realized that the sight of the street in front of the hotel seemed somehow . . . fresher. He realized that he must have been under some kind of spell because he had been unable to see the street for a while. He could see everything again. The first thing he heard was his partner chuckling and saying, "Is that how I looked when you did that to me?"

The second thing he heard was Miz Beulah saying, "Now you know address where man live. Now pay second gold," as she held out her hand.

* * *

A few minutes later found the three of them standing outside the gate of the picket fence at 1109 Honesty Street.

Hannibal Heyes was still angry. "And you really believe that rogue Freund is in this house?! Because you think I spouted off some fool address after this addle-headed female drugged me!"

"Hey, you watch you language!" said Miz Beulah.

"Of course I do!" the Kid reassured him. "She found _you_ for me, didn't she?"

"No, Kid, _I_ found _you,_ remember? All she did for you was drug you. And take our money . . ." Heyes added, glaring at Miz Beulah.

"I want rest of gold!" she said belligerently. Heyes had refused to pay her until he actually saw Damien Freund.

"He's in there, Heyes, and he's sitting on a velvet chair, just like Miz Beulah said, just like _you_ said. I'd bet my life on it." The Kid opened the gate and ushered Heyes inside. He turned to Miz Beulah. "Ma'am," said the Kid deferentially, "you'd better skedaddle. There's likely to be gunfire."

The usually slow-moving Miz Beulah threw up her hands, yelled "Help Hannah!" and sauntered away as quickly as her girth would allow. The Kid watched until she was safely around the corner of a building, then joined his friend at the front door. "Have you got a plan?" he whispered as Heyes knocked on the door.

"Of course I have a plan," answered Heyes haughtily. "My plan is to apologize to the little old lady who lives here for disturbing her from her tea."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were sitting on the velvet chairs in the parlor of the house. They were tied to the chairs so they could not escape, and Damien Freund and a younger man (who looked a lot like Damien) were talking to each other as they watched over them with guns.

"I _told_ you!" the Kid quietly admonished his partner. But Hannibal Heyes was so angry at himself and at the situation to waste any of that anger responding to the Kid. It wasn't the Kid's fault; it was his own fault for being so . . . so . . . No, wait, maybe it wasn't his own fault. Heyes recognized that he'd had trouble thinking logically ever since he'd first met up with Freund. Ignoring the Kid, who was continuing to whisper admonishments to him, Heyes quickly reviewed the events of the last few days in his mind. He'd fallen for the lines of a flashy stranger, he'd traveled to New Orleans and continued listening to and believing the lies the stranger kept telling him, he'd had a particularly satisfying night with a lovely young prostitute (well, that part wasn't too bad), he'd been drugged and kidnapped while drugged, he'd planned and executed a (brilliant!) escape, he'd hauled a heavy load of books all the way back into the city, he'd met up with the Kid (actually, that part was pretty good, too, up until now), he'd foolishly allowed Miz Beulah to hypnotize or drug him somehow, and now he'd come to the address she lied and said _he_ suggested, only to be taken off-guard by the same man who kidnapped him in the first place. And now both he _and_ the Kid were tied up. Heyes groaned. He would have held his head in his hands if he could move them. "Shut up, Kid!" he whispered. "We've got to find a way out of this."

The Kid ignored the insult. "It's too bad Miz Beulah left," he said. "She could rescue us."

Heyes slowly looked up and stared daggers at the Kid. "Hasn't it occurred to you yet that _she . . . is . . . in . . .on . . .it!?"_

Totally surprised, the Kid fiercely whispered, "Of course she's not in on it, Heyes. If I hadn't warned her, she'd be here tied up, too."

"There's not enough rope in New Orleans to tie her up!" Heyes said angrily. "Now help me out here, Kid. Help me think of some way out of this."

Now the Kid was beginning to take umbrage. "So the great Hannibal Heyes can't solve a problem without the help of the puny brain of his gunfighter friend?"

"I've been drugged twice now in the last couple days, Kid, remember? And you're lucky to have a friend like me. With friends like _her_ you get tied up!"

"She had nothing to do with this, Heyes! Quit blaming her! _You're_ the one who came up with this address!"

"That's ridiculous, Kid."

"I _heard_ you. You said 1109 Honesty Street plain as day. This was _your_ idea!"

"Then she must have hypnotized me somehow and planted this thought in my head. I've never heard of this place!"

"She pulls thoughts out of your mind. She did it to me. _I've_ _seen_ _it, Heyes!_ She says it's voodoo."

Heyes was still chagrined. "That is a silly word. I don't know what voodooing is and I don't want to. Now help me think."

Damien Freund and the other man broke off their conversation. "What are you two whispering about?" he asked Heyes.

Heyes and the Kid both clammed up and looked innocently at Freund. "I don't want you talking to each other any more, Heyes," said Freund. "In fact, I have a few things to tell _you."_

"I really don't care to hear anything you have to say," said Heyes in a voice as emotionless as he could muster. "And my friend doesn't, either." He nodded at the Kid for emphasis.

"Things have changed, haven't they, Heyes?" Freund slyly asked.

"You don't have an accent any more," noted the Kid indignantly.

"That's right, Mr. Curry," Freund responded. "Like I said, things have changed."

 _Mr. Curry!_ This shocked the Kid for a moment, until he realized that Freund already knew who Heyes was. It was probably only a simple matter to connect the two of them, of course.

Damien Freund continued talking. "Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to Daniel," he said, indicating the other man. "Daniel Freund, my son." Apparently he was expecting a reaction from the two of them, but when he got nothing, he continued. "I am training my son to do my job – to follow in his father's footsteps. You see, gentlemen, I am a bounty hunter!"

Now he got a reaction! Heyes managed to control his deep anger, but it could clearly be seen in his eyes. And Kid Curry looked downright startled. He had thought all along that he recognized Freund from somewhere, and now it came to him. Many years ago, before he had teamed up with Heyes, he had been in an outlaw gang. When Freund was spotted at one point, the gang members had warned the Kid about him.

Freund enjoyed the startled looks he saw for a moment before he continued. "I told you, Heyes, that I intended to use you as bait. Your unexpected escape from the cabin has changed things – a little. By the way, you didn't leave any casualties behind, did you?"

"Casualties? Hardly. I play fair, unlike you, Freund."

Damien Freund chuckled. "Well, don't worry, my friend. Things will all work out. Not for you, of course. The plans have changed to suit the new situation. You see, I left you in that cabin, Heyes, so my son could use the clues I left for him to find you. Hunter-in-training. He's learned well so far. Picked up several small-ticket items, five hundred here, a thousand there. But _ten thousand dollars!_ And a brain as nimble as yours, Heyes. You were a true prize. When I saw you, I could not pass up the opportunity to use you as a learning tool – for my very talented son." Freund beamed at Daniel.

For the first time, Daniel spoke. "When you burst in here, Father was just telling me a few things about you, Heyes. He also told me a few things about you, Kid. He said you'd be following to help your friend. And, damn, he was right!" Daniel spoke with the same accent that Heyes and the Kid had heard from most of the people who lived in New Orleans. They both realized with a shock that Daniel was a native. Probably had been raised in that very house!

"People aren't 'small-ticket items,' Freund," said Heyes indignantly.

"Certainly you aren't, Hannibal Heyes. But, like I said," Damien continued, "things have changed. You have deprived my son of the opportunity to search for you. An unfortunate occurrence. Made easier to accept with the knowledge that neither my son nor myself have to lift one more finger to claim _twenty thousand dollars!"_ He and Daniel laughed for a moment, then Damien continued. "I was wondering who would find you first, Heyes – my son or your friend. But it doesn't matter now, does it?"

Kid Curry had been watching Daniel Freund. At this last statement of his father's, Daniel hooted loudly and sat down in the chair by the front window. It was clear he was thinking of the bountiful reward money, but this concentration still did not remove his gun leveled at the outlaws. Although what possible threat could they be, all tied up like that? Kid Curry was starting to get the sinking feeling that he always got when a 20-year prison term closely threatened. Where was that silver tongue of Heyes's?

Suddenly the Kid realized he wasn't staring at Daniel Freund, but past him. Daniel had his back to the window, so he couldn't see what the Kid saw out the window. _Miz Beulah!_

Miz Beulah had apparently decided to risk the possible danger of gunfire and return to check on the health of her customers, and presumably, her gold. The Kid could see her head just popping up above the windowsill. She narrowed her eyes. Would she understand what was happening here? Kid Curry tried to maneuver his hands so the ropes could be seen, but Daniel Freund leveled his gun and suggested he stay still.

The Kid tried not to look directly at Miz Beulah so his captors would not catch on that she was right outside. She could get help! But she didn't seem to understand what was happening. The Kid knew he had to stall for time, to give Miz Beulah the chance to figure out what was going on and to go get help. He started asking questions about how Damien was planning on using Heyes as bait, and Damien was only too happy to answer. He started at the beginning, when he had first recognized the outlaws in Texas, and he continued with his story, secure in his self-important attitude.

Next to the Kid, Heyes had been trying to come up with an escape plan. He had been drawing a blank, and now Damien prattling on was continuing to obscure his concentration. He gave his partner a "what the hell are you doing?" look and the Kid nodded toward the window. Heyes saw Miz Beulah outside and rolled his eyes and said, "What next?"

Damien of course thought Heyes was interjecting exasperation at having been hoodwinked, so he continued to natter on with his story. Neither he nor his son had any idea that Miz Beulah was outside.

Suddenly remembering Miz Beulah's powers of the mind, Kid Curry decided to try to send her a thought message. _Miz Beulah! Miz Beulah!_ _Go get help for us!_ _Go get the Sheriff._ _No, wait – not the Sheriff!_ _Go get someone besides the Sheriff._ _Go get anyone besides the Sheriff!_

But Miz Beulah did not seem to notice that a special message was being sent to her. She continued to look around the room, as if she herself were trying to come up with a plan to spring her customers. Frustrated, the Kid stopped trying to send her a subliminal message. Suddenly, Miz Beulah's head popped down out of sight.

"No!" yelled the Kid without thinking. The other three men looked at him in wonder.

"What's wrong?" asked Daniel.

"Uh . . . cramp. Yeah, hand cramp. How about untying me?"

Daniel snickered and settled back into his chair. Heyes rolled his eyes again, and Damien continued with his frustrating, monotonous drivel of a story. Heyes and the Kid were literally a captive audience being forced to listen to an account of how they had been captured. Insult was being added to injury. And to make matters worse, neither of them could come up with a plausible escape idea. They sat uncomfortably in their chairs and tried to loosen their bindings as best they could, to no avail.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. All four of them looked surprised. Heyes opened his mouth to shout for help, but one of his captors was too fast for him. Daniel shook his head 'no' as he leveled his gun right at Kid Curry. Heyes knew there was nothing he could do.

Damien and Daniel exchanged looks. "Who is it?" yelled Damien at the door.

"Miz Olson," came the voice from the other side of the door. Miz Beulah's voice! Now Heyes and the Kid exchanged a look.

Damien whispered to his son, "Just a woman. No problem. Keep your gun leveled." Damien placed his gun on his chair as he rose to answer the door. He made sure to place his body in the way of any sight of his prisoners from the street. "What can I do for you?" he asked Miz Beulah, assuming the accent he had used earlier.

"Me Miz Olson. New neighbor, just move in. I come say hello. Come bring you this." She held out her hands and showed Damien a beautiful frosted coffee cake. "For you and Mrs." When Damien hesitated, she grabbed his hands and put the coffee cake in them. "You eat. I good cook."

"Well, thank you. This looks delicious."

"I good cook," repeated Miz Beulah, and she turned to leave, allowing her hand to linger on the door frame in the process.

"Wait a minute," Damien called after her. "Which house did you buy?"

Miz Beulah waved her hand in a general westerly direction and sauntered away.

"Strange woman," Damien muttered as he closed the door. Heyes and the Kid gave each other an all-knowing look. When it became clear to Heyes that Damien was just going to set the coffee cake on a table and continue with his story, Heyes said, "Hey, how about sharing that with us!? There's plenty there for all of us!"

"Yeah, we're hungry, too," the Kid piped in.

Damien took the bait hook, line and sinker. "You'll get your food in a federal penitentiary from now on, gentlemen. This cake is intended for the people who live in this house. You're just temporary visitors!" He set it on his son's lap and grabbed a generous piece of the coffee cake for himself. "Sorry, gentlemen."

Both Damien and Daniel greedily devoured the coffee cake. Chewing sounds were interspersed with exclamations like "This is absolutely delicious!" and "I never tasted cake this good!" Daniel pointed out that there was a label on the box listing the bakery down the street as the source of the cake, but neither one of them seemed to care that 'Miz Olson' had lied about baking it herself. Or that 'Miz Olson' did not look particular Scandinavian. When most of the cake was gone, Daniel stood up and announced that he was going into the kitchen to make some coffee. He went into the kitchen and sank slowly to the floor, laughing in the process. Damien watched his son collapse but for some strange reason did not feel any panic. He slunk down in his chair and laughed. He was mildly concerned that he was unable to concentrate on anything, so he compromised and concentrated on his laughing.

Heyes and Curry looked at each other and started laughing, too, but for entirely different reasons. They started maneuvering their chairs into positions that would allow them to untie each other's hands. But before they were even in position, they heard the handle of the front door rattling and Miz Beulah walked right in!

"Miz Beulah!" called the Kid. "Are we glad to see you!"

She walked over to them and wasted no time in untying them. "Thank you, thank you," they both said to her. In addition, Kid Curry grabbed her in a bear hug and said, "I could kiss you!"

She pushed him away. "You no kiss. You strange man!"

* * *

A few minutes later, after Heyes and the Kid had made use of the velvet chairs to tie up their own prisoners, they went into the kitchen to make that pot of coffee that never got made. Heyes and Miz Beulah sat at the table while the Kid started lighting the stove.

"I think we can safely assume there was Val root on that cake," Heyes said to Miz Beulah.

She shook her head in agreement. "Val root good. Bad for them, good for you."

"I _told_ you she wasn't in on it, Heyes," said the Kid.

"Well, thank you again, Miz Beulah. We really didn't know how we were going to get out of that."

"Why they tie you?" she asked.

Heyes and the Kid stammered a little but Heyes covered well by pointing out that Damien and Daniel were just naturally bad men.

Miz Beulah narrowed her eyes and said, "Why you lie to me?"

"Uh . . . Miz Beulah," interrupted the Kid. "That was Damien Freund and his son. They wanted to hurt us. Us! – your customers! Is that enough information for you?"

She looked at the Kid for a moment, without answering. "Want second gold," she said.

* * *

Eating in New Orleans was apparently something that happened fairly frequently and Kid Curry was in seventh heaven because of it. After questioning Miz Beulah and discovering that the large amount of Val root administered to the Freunds would take a few hours to wear off, Heyes and the Kid felt secure enough to get comfortable in the Freunds' house and cook themselves a meal from the Freunds' store of food. Heyes handed Miz Beulah a frying pan and asked her to help but she didn't seem to have any such inclination. The outlaws were unconcerned; after all, she had just saved them 20-year prison terms. Perhaps they owed her a lot more than a home-cooked meal. As they were cooking at the stove, Heyes saw the Kid open his mouth to say something to Miz Beulah. Instinctively he knew the Kid was going to generously offer something to her as a reward that they could sorely afford to lose. He put his arm around his friend's shoulders to shut him up and said to Miz Beulah, "Can you go in the parlor and check on the Freunds? Please?" She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously and left the room.

"Kid!" Heyes whispered furiously. "Be careful what you offer her. We don't have much, remember?"

"Heyes, how did you know I was going to give her a reward?"

"I don't have to be put in a trance to read _your_ mind, Kid. Anyhow," Heyes continued, reaching in his vest pocket. "here's the gold piece we owe her. Just give her that."

In a moment, Miz Beulah returned. "Freunds sleep. They smile," she said, laughing.

* * *

After their satisfying lunch, the three of them retired to the parlor. Damien and Daniel Freund were sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware that they were secured to their chairs.

"They no hear us," Miz Beulah explained unnecessarily.

"All right, now, Ki . . . Thaddeus. We have got ourselves a new problem."

"What's that?" asked the Kid innocently.

Heyes exasperatedly pointed to the Freunds. "These two, of course! What are we supposed to do with them? We can't just let them go because they'll keep coming after us. And we can't have them arrested and put in jail for a while because they haven't really done anything."

"Well, actually, Heyes, I think we can. We can have them arrested for false imprisonment. I mean, you and me here in this house, and Damien locked you in a cabin outside of town."

Heyes gave his partner his most frustrated look. "Do you really think it's a good idea? _To take them to the police?!"_

"Uh . . . maybe not."

Miz Beulah narrowed her eyes. "Why they come after you? They no seem to like you."

Heyes had been finding virtually everything that happened to him since he woke up the day before annoying. And the most irritating thing of all was Miz Beulah narrowing her eyes. He scanned his brain for an answer to this question without divulging their true identities.

But Kid Curry came to the rescue, bless him! He took Miz Beulah's hands in his own and said In a gentle non-condescending tone of voice, "Miz Beulah, my friend and I are not bad men. And neither are Mr. Freund and his son. But we are on different sides of the law. And they feel they have the right to do harm to Mr. Heyes and me. We don't want to hurt them but we don't want them to hurt us, either. We just want them to leave us alone. Understand?"

For once, Miz Beulah did not narrow her eyes. She nodded her head in understanding. But she withdrew her hands from the Kid's and said softly, "You no touch Priestess Beulah."

The Kid nodded in appreciation and turned back to Heyes. The two of them quietly discussed the few possibilities they could come up with. Nothing seemed feasible. The chosen plan involved them leaving town and trying not to leave any kind of trail that could be followed. Neither of them was happy with this choice, but nothing else was better.

Miz Beulah had sat quietly, listening to them talk. After they had finished, she said, "Best they forget you."

Kid Curry sighed and leaned back in his chair. Heyes said, "We're all in agreement there," frustration evident in his voice.

"I make happen," said Miz Beulah.

Kid Curry leaned forward again. His eyes got wide. He looked at Heyes, who rolled his.

"Miz Beulah," said the Kid slowly, enunciating every syllable. "Can you make that happen?"

"I make happen," she repeated. "I Priestess Beulah!"

"No," said the Kid, "I mean – can you make them forget us permanently? Forever?"

"I make happen," she said.

Against his better judgment, Heyes found himself interested.

"I have one more five-dollar gold piece," Kid Curry barely breathed. "It's yours if you can make them forget who we are."

Narrowed eyes again. "Show me gold."

Kid Curry quickly searched his pockets, and, coming up gold-free, looked to Heyes with imploring eyes. Heyes knew what he had to do, but hesitated for a moment. His faith in Miz Beulah was nowhere near as strong as his friend's, but in a moment he had made his decision. He handed her the required gold piece, and said, "Miz Beulah, this is the last of our money."

"That all right," she said, grabbing it and testing it with her teeth, as always.

* * *

The following day was stormy and miserable. Heyes and Curry kept a low profile, remaining in their hotel room all day. By the end of the day, rain or not, angry Freunds on the loose or not, they were starving and needed to venture out. They scraped together all the spare change they could find and traveled under the cover of darkness to the gambling hall Heyes had intended to visit earlier. There he spent a few hours gambling and increasing their kitty very substantially, while Kid Curry unobtrusively stood guard outside the entrance door. In the early morning hours they slithered back to their hotel room, guns drawn all the way in anticipation of a Freundian ambush that never happened.

Shortly after dawn, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry left their hotel room by design, for the final time. Although it was light, it was still very early and not many people were out. They walked quickly and deliberately, ready to draw their guns, if needed, at any moment. In a little while, they arrived at 1109 Honesty Street.

The house was dark and quiet. If Damien Freund and his son were home, they were obviously still asleep. Heyes opened the gate and walked quietly up to the front door. The Kid hid behind a tree in the yard where he had a clear view of the doorway. The two of them looked at each other apprehensively. The Kid nodded his head. Heyes swallowed hard and turned to the door. He knocked loudly. When there was no answer, he knocked again. This time they heard a man's amiable voice from inside the house, "Be there in a minute!" It was Damien's voice.

Heyes's heart was beating rapidly. His gun was ready at his side and he had every trust in the world in his partner's shooting abilities. Surely the odds were in his favor. He waited breathlessly.

In a moment, the door was opened and Damien appeared in a robe. "Can I help you?" he asked in a friendly manner.

Heyes stared at him and Damien stared back, waiting for Heyes to answer. _It was very evident Damien Freund did not recognize Hannibal Heyes!_ Miz Beulah's procedure had worked! Heyes was ecstatic! Stifling the desire to laugh out loud, he simply smiled and pulled two papers out of his jacket pocket. "Sorry to bother you so early. My name is Smith," he said. "The local police department told me that you lived here."

"Oh? My son and I do work with them occasionally. What can I do for you?" Still quite amiable.

"Right," said Heyes. "They told me you and your son were bounty hunters. I want to show you something." Heyes was ecstatic at how well this conversation was going, but now came the real test. The Kid, well-hidden behind the tree, found himself holding his breath.

"These are wanted posters," Heyes continued, holding up the posters of himself and the Kid that could be found in any Sheriff's office.

Interested in this stranger wielding one of the tools of his own trade, Damien scrutinized the poster of Heyes. "Why, that description sounds like you, Mr. Smith! Are you wanted?" Damien asked with genuine surprise.

"No, of course not! And this other poster sounds like my cousin Mr. Jones. A couple of years ago an old friend felt I had cheated him – which I did not! – and he had these fake wanted posters printed up and distributed them to a number of police departments. He has since been brought to justice of course, but every time my cousin or I arrive in a new town, we find we must stop in at the local law establishment to explain what happened, so we are not subjected to false arrest. The local police here suggested I let you know as well."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Smith, very much," said Damien genuinely. "My son and I make a living finding desperate criminals, and we often have little to go on other than the information on these posters. I will search through my personal stock and destroy any of these if I have them, and tell my son to do the same."

"Thank you, Mr. Freund. And one more thing – in the future, if you happen to be in the vicinity of any police or sheriff's office, please remove these if you see them displayed. My cousin and I would appreciate it and so would the police."

"We'll be happy to. Now, Mr. Smith, I'm about to make breakfast, if you'd like to join my son and me."

Heyes waved his hand in thanks. "No thank you, Mr. Freund. I have to be going. Thanks for your time. And good luck to you in finding all those _true_ criminals," he added as he backed down the path. When he heard the door shut, he turned to the Kid. They both started laughing at once.

* * *

A few minutes later, after dickering with the livery where the Kid's horse was being cared for, Heyes had a new mount for himself. He and the Kid walked their horses through town while they discussed leaving New Orleans permanently.

"I need to buy a few things, Kid," said Heyes, "but I'll wait until we get to the next town. I'm anxious to leave this one behind."

"You know, Heyes," said the Kid thoughtfully. "I've been thinking. I doubt if we would have escaped from the Freunds if it hadn't been for Miz Beulah."

"We don't know that for sure."

"Maybe. But we _do_ know for sure that she did something to their minds to make them forget us. They really don't remember us! Now, that's obvious."

Heyes stared at his partner with a crooked smile. "I got to give you that one, Kid. I would never have believed that in a million years."

"And we've got some money now, Heyes. Before we leave town, what do you say we try to find her and thank her properly. She likes gold; let's give her some more gold pieces. What do you say?" Kid Curry looked hopeful that his friend would agree.

Hannibal Heyes seldom felt magnanimous, but this was something the Kid wanted, and Heyes had promised himself to be good to his friend. He figured he would have to give in. But maybe he could stall, just a little . . . "We really don't know how to find her, you know."

Suddenly, from the doorway of a building they were passing, came a familiar voice. The voice of Miz Beulah!

"I here!" she called.

* * *

 _Disclaimer:_ _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended_.


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